In Which Falidor Seeks the Words

December 6, 1180

Falidor's former sister-in-law seated herself, a reminder of why he ought to have made more of an effort to keep in touch after they'd both divorced their respective Dephwains. Aydelle was a woman who took full ownership of any room she entered. Many of the women Falidor loved most--his sisters, the late Lady Alina, the dearly departed Laveria, and of course Raia--shared that trait, and in a man's world, that sort of confident, no-nonsense strength of spirit was something he never failed to admire in those of the female persuasion.

Ailede had never been like that. She'd never owned rooms, but conquered them. And like most other conquerors, her power was not so much earned as it was taken, any body in her way shown no mercy, any soul in her wake stripped of freedom and marred with bleeding wounds. Some men cited women like Ailede as a reason to loathe any woman who dared be her own person, but Falidor disagreed. Ailede was not an example, but a misconception. Ailede gave strong-willed women a bad name.

But even with Aydelle right in front of him, Falidor wasn't sure why he was wasting thoughts on Ailede. "It's... certainly been a while."

"It has." She shuffled to her right, toward the center of her chosen seat. "Sit with me?"

He did as requested. That was the difference, he supposed, or one of them. People like Aydelle or Raia, like any other civilized human being on the planet, never demanded but requested, and did not indulge so-called demands but fulfilled requests as they saw fit. People like Ailede could only make demands, and could not even consider bending for even the most heartfelt of desperate pleas. "To what do I owe the honor?"

She stiffened. She was colder than Raia, perhaps--for all the rumors seemed to suggest otherwise--but there was only one Raia, just like there was only one Aydelle. Falidor's life might have been quite different if he'd figured out that general premise earlier. "I have news."

"Good news?" She shook her head. "Bad news?"

She swallowed. "News."

Lamp-like eyes turned away from the wall opposite and set their focus instead on his. Her own daughters, if he recalled correctly, both had her eyes, along with most of her other features. Her former husband's face flashed his brain like some long-forgotten childhood nightmare and he remembered just how fortunate a thing that was. "Just news?"

"I suppose it ought to be bad news, but I don't feel it." Her hand curled around the edge of the seat cushion, a few stray snowflakes melting off of her sleeve. "I suppose you ought to know that our former spouses are dead."

"How? When?" He posed the questions on some in-born reflex, but he couldn't claim to care. Frankly, it was a shock to learn Ailede could die at all.

"Fire. Yesterday. Ailede was at Eblor's house, and the neighbors say they were screaming at each other about something their father left one of them, then the next thing anyone new, the house went up in flames. They were both long gone from the smoke before anyone could contain it; seems they were so preoccupied with their fight that they forgot to tend the hearth." Pushing to the point of abandoning basic priorities. An unexpected end, but a fitting one. "Not much survived the blaze, but Eblor didn't have much anyway. The girls were never going to inherit anything from him. They certainly won't miss him."

Falidor fought back a sigh. As far as he knew, Ailede hadn't lived at the old house since Fenrick's youngest was born and had spent little time there before she'd run off out-of-the-blue anyway. His children wouldn't miss her either. He guessed he'd try to at least feel bad about it. Ailede hadn't been much of a person, but she was still just that--a person.

"Does their mother know?"

Aydelle shrugged. "The king said he'd send someone to break the news, but I doubt she cares."

"She never did care about much." Perhaps that had been Ailede's problem. She'd lived her life among broken people and didn't know anything but to beat others down to that level. He could feel sorry for her there. "Have you told your girls?"

"No, but I suppose I'll have to after I leave here. You'll have to tell your children too."

He nodded. "As soon as I find the words."

NEXT CHAPTER: